Dudes, the School Is Haunted! by R. L. Stine Page B

voices murmured.
    “Please—answer us!” I begged. “Can you help us?”
    And then they all chanted, “Turn, turn.” And they began to dance.
    Keeping the circle tight, they moved to the right in a rapid rhythm. They
raised one leg high, and stepped to the right. Lowered the leg and gave a little
kick. Then another high step to the right.
    Some kind of weird dance.
    “Turn, turn,” they chanted. “Turn, turn.”
    “Please—stop!” Ben and I both pleaded. “Why are you doing that? Are you
trying to scare us?”
    “Turn, turn.” The dark, dancing figures moved in and out of the swirling
fog.
    The fog lifted for a moment, and I saw that they were holding hands as they
danced. Holding hands tightly. Keeping the circle closed.
    Keeping Ben and me inside.
    “Turn, turn,” they chanted. A step, then a kick. “Turn, turn.”
    “What are they doing?” Ben whispered to me. “Is it a game or something?”
    I swallowed hard. “I don’t think so,” I replied.
    The fog shifted again. It lowered over the grass, then billowed away.
    I squinted at the chanting faces as they moved in the circle.
    Their expressions were hard.
    Their eyes cold.
    Cold, unfriendly faces.
    “Turn, turn. Turn, turn.”
    “Stop it!” I screamed. “Give us a break! What are you doing? Please—somebody explain!”
    “Turn, turn.” The chant continued. The circle of kids moved to the right.
They stared at Ben and me, as if challenging us—as if daring us to stop them.
    “Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.
    Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray!”
    The circle spun around us. The kids danced in rhythm in the billowing fog. A
steady, frightening rhythm.
    So cold… so menacing.
    So crazy !
    “Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.
    Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.”
    And suddenly, watching the eerie dance, listening to their machinelike chant,
I knew. I knew what they were doing. It was some kind of weird ceremony. They
were watching us, holding us there. Holding us there until we were gray like
them.

 
 
21
     
     
    “Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.”
    As the kids moved in their tight circle, chanting softly, I studied their
faces. So hard… so cold.
    They were trying to frighten us.
    I counted nine girls and ten boys. All dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Big,
heavy shoes. And I suddenly wished this was all an old movie. All just a movie
and not really happening to Ben and me.
    “Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.”
    “Why are you doing this?” Ben shouted over their eerie chant. “Why won’t you
talk to us?”
    They continued their circle dance, ignoring his cries.
    I turned to him, leaning close so that he could hear me. “We have to make a
run for it,” I said. “They’re crazy. They’re going to keep us here. Until we are
totally gray like them.”
    Ben nodded solemnly, his eyes on the circle of kids.
    He cupped his hands around his mouth to reply to me. And I gasped. His hands
were completely gray.
    I raised both of my hands to my face. Gray. Solid gray.
    How far had the gray traveled? How much time did Ben and I have?
    “We’ve got to get away from them,” I told him. “Come on, Ben. On the
count of three. You run this way. And I’ll run that way.” I motioned in two
different directions.
    “If we take them by surprise, maybe we can break through,” I said.
    “And then what?” Ben replied.
    I didn’t want to answer that question. I didn’t know the answer.
“Let’s just get away from them!” I cried. “I can’t stand that stupid chanting
for one more second!”
    Ben nodded. He sucked in a deep breath.
    “One…” I counted.
    “Turn, turn.
    Turn to gray.”
    The chanting kids had tightened their circle. They were nearly arm in arm.
    Had they read our minds?
    “Two…” I counted. I tensed my leg muscles. Prepared to run.
    The curtain of fog had lifted. Puffs of mist clung to the ground. But I could
see dark houses beyond the circle of kids.
    If we can break through their linked arms, maybe we can hide in one of those
houses, I